CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
They came in the late afternoon.
Three days after the warning from the Carlisle soldiers, men began emerging from the trees about a half mile from Kirklinton Castle in a solid line of legs and weapons. Oddly enough, it wasn’t the glint of weapons that gave them away. It was the tartan that blended into the foliage because it gave a strange rippling effect when they moved. Kirklinton’s sharp sentries were the first to see it and the shout went up. The Scots were on the approach.
Cathlina had been with Roxane and Abechail in Abechail’s small bower, keeping her company by telling her stories and playing card games with Cathlina’s lovely painted cards that Mathias had bought her on their travels through Scotland. Every time Cathlina held up a card to her sister or lay it upon the table in a fan pattern with others, she was reminded of Mathias and of how much she missed him.
The afternoon had been waning and they were thinking on the approach of the evening meal when the sentry’s cry went up. Startled, Cathlina and Roxane had jumped up and run to the lancet window that faced the gatehouse only to see the Kirklinton soldiers scrambling upon the walls. They really couldn’t see beyond the walls from Abechail’s chamber so they raced into their larger bower which had more of a view of the north and west. That was when they saw the line of men moving across the clearing towards the castle, like a tide of ants at a distance, heading in their direction.
“Look!” Roxane gasped, pointing. “Men! Do you see them?”
Cathlina did, indeed. Her heart sank, but strangely, she didn’t panic. Her big brown eyes stared at all of the men approaching the castle. The closer they loomed, the more detail she could make out as she and Roxane clung to each other anxiously.
“They are carrying clubs and axes,” she said with apprehension in her tone. “They do not look like Mathias or other knights we have seen. Remember how the knights in the tournament were dressed?”
Roxane nodded fearfully. “They were dressed in mail and armor, and….” She suddenly stopped and pointed out of the window. “Look at the knights on horseback. See them back behind the men on foot?”
Cathlina did and her fear began to grow just a little. “I do.”
“They are here to attack us!”
“It is possible.”
Together, they continued to watch the Scots come forth from the foliage, moving across the warm summer grass and trampling on the wildflowers the women had taken such delight in. Then, they simply stopped. Confused, Cathlina and Roxane watched anxiously for them to make a move that would throw them all into the midst of a battle, but they remained still. Then, it appeared as if someone gave a command because the men began moving. Some of them settled in where they were while others moved back into the trees and soon they could hear the distant sounds of chopping. In short order, trees began falling.
“What do you suppose they are doing?” Roxane asked apprehensively.
Cathlina had no idea. She had never seen a battle before. “I do not know,” she said. “But Father will. He will come and tell us what is happening.”
As the women clutched each other in mounting fear, Rosalund entered the chamber. Her usually cold and austere face was flushed with exertion and fright.
“Come, girls,” she said, clapping her hands and nearly startling Cathlina and Roxane out of their skins. “Your father has asked that we remove ourselves to the vault and lock ourselves in. We must collect all the supplies we can before we do this. Hurry, there is no time to waste.”
Cathlina and Roxane rushed after her. “Lock ourselves in the vault?” Roxane repeated. “Why would we do that?”
Rosalund hustled into Abechail’s room where the girl lay, weak and ill, upon her bed. She ignored Roxane’s question as she stroked her youngest child’s pale face.
“We shall return for you,” she said calmly. “Your Father wants us to be safe and will lock us up in the vault until this is over.”
Unable to see out her window at what was occurring, Abechail was understandably frightened. She clung to her mother’s hand.
“What is happening?” she asked, verging on tears. “Have the Scots come?”
Rosalund nodded patiently. “They have, my lamb,” she said. “Your father says that they are building ladders so that they may mount our walls. If they are able to get into the bailey, then it will only be a matter of time before they breach the keep. Your father feels that if we lock ourselves in the vault, they cannot get to us.”
Abechail’s eyes were tearing up but she nodded. Rosalund stroked her daughter’s hair one last time before returning her attention to Cathlina and Roxane.
“Roxane,” she said. “You will collect as much water as you can from the well and take it to the vault. Use buckets and pitchers and anything else you can find. Have a house servant assist you. Go, now, there is no time to waste.”
When Roxane fled, she turned her attention to Cathlina. “And you, my dear, will collect blankets and bedding and take it down to the vault. I will also have you bring chamber pots. I am having the servants stash as much food as we can collect. Hurry on with your task, now.”
Cathlina had been moderately calm until Rosalund had revealed the plan to hide in the vault. If her father was already making such preparations, then the impending battle must be a terrible one indeed. That knowledge made it most difficult to remain calm.
“If Father wanted us to stay to the vault, then shouldn’t we have stored supplies earlier?” she asked. “It seems foolish to do this at the last hour. We have known for days that the Scots could come.”
Some of Rosalund’s patience left her. “We knew nothing for certain,” she snapped. “Your father prepared as he saw best. You will not question his decisions.”
Cathlina shook her head, exasperated and afraid. “I am not questioning his decisions,” she said. “I am simply asking why we did not do this sooner. Now we must rush about while the enemy is building ladders against us.”
“Psh,” Rosalund shushed her. “Go now and do as you are told.”
With shaking legs, Cathlina rushed off. She could hardly believe this was happening, that the Scots were preparing to knock down her front door. She had moved beyond thoughts of her father’s lack of preparation and on to Mathias. Hadn’t he sent her back to England to prevent this? Confused, terrified, and praying that Mathias would somehow know of her danger and come to her aid, she raced in and out of bedchambers, collecting what she could carry before taking it to the vault.
The dungeons of Kirklinton were built under the great hall. The hall itself was built using one of the curtain walls for its northern perimeter wall and on the western portion of the hall were alcoves for the servants and a small doorway that led down a flight of stairs into the great vault.
Originally used as storage, Saer had converted it into the prison because the gatehouse had a tiny bottle prison that was barely big enough for three men. The vault had two great iron grates, one at the top of the stairs and one at the bottom. The vault itself had a dirt floor and big barrel ceiling, the stones carefully placed to support the weight of the hall above. It was big, and cold, and branched off on a ninety degree angle from the staircase so anyone coming down the steps could not see into the room. They could only see a very small portion of the entire vault. That would hopefully work to their favor.
Cathlina worked steadily gathering bed linens and fashioning four relatively comfortable pallets down in the vault. She placed them as far away from the door as she could get them in order to keep them as great a distance from danger as possible. Furthermore, she had the cook hunt down large sheets of oilcloth sometimes used to protect the rabbit hutches in the kitchen yard from the elements. She lay those down on the ground underneath the pallets to keep the cold away.
As she emerged from the vault and headed out into the bailey towards the keep, she could see that there was a good deal of activity upon the walls. Men were shouting and she could see a rush of soldiers heading for the wall turrets. It was nearing the nooning hour by this time and as she neared the keep, her father and mother suddenly emerged. Her father was carrying Abechail in his arms and her mother was running along beside.
“Cathlina, come!” her father said briskly as he ran past her. “There is no more time. Into the vault!”
Cathlina’s terror surged as she followed after them, nearly tripping on her skirts in her haste. “Where is Roxane?” she cried.
“At the well,” her father said. “I will fetch her. You must come with me now.”
Cathlina ran after them without another word. Truth was, she was too frightened to speak. This was her first siege, her first battle, and she fought back the tears of terror. Dear God, if only Mathias knew of her plight. He would let nothing stop him from protecting his wife. A wife who happened to be carrying the child he did not yet know about. As Cathlina ran through the great hall and down the stairs into the vault after her parents, she wiped the tears off her cheeks. She prayed she would have the opportunity to tell Mathias of his son. It was all she prayed for.
Saer handed Abechail over to Rosalund, who bedded her daughter down gently on one of the pallets Cathlina had made. Swiftly, he turned to Cathlina, who was panting with fright and exertion behind him.
“Come with me,” he said, taking her arm.
He pulled her over to the stairs and pressed something cold and hard into the palm of her hand. It was an old iron key. When Cathlina saw what it was, she looked at him curiously.
“The key to both gates,” he told her softly. “You must keep it safe because as long as you have it, the Scots cannot get in. Do you understand?”
Cathlina nodded seriously. “Of course, Father.”
His gaze lingered on her a moment before cupping her face in his hands and kissing her forehead swiftly. “Take great care of yourself and my grandson,” he muttered. “Know that you are very special to me, Cathlina. I love you very much.”
Cathlina’s eyes welled with fat tears. “I love you, too,” she sniffed. “All will be well. You will see. You will meet your grandson in the spring.”
Saer seemed to grow misty-eyed but instead of making a fool of himself with more sentiment, he simply raced up the stairs. Cathlina followed, slamming the big iron gate behind him and locking it. Then, she moved down a few steps and waited for him to return with Roxane.
They weren’t long in coming. Roxane and Saer returned shortly, Saer carrying a heavy bucket of water and Roxane nearly hysterical. Cathlina quickly unlocked the grate and ushered her sister in, followed by several servants they happened to pick up in the kitchen yard where they had gathered in an uncertain mass. Each of them had some kind of supply or possession with them, and the stable grooms were carrying more buckets of water.
When they had all entered the stairwell, Cathlina slammed the grate and locked it tightly again. Then, she followed the collection of people down into the vault and threw that gate as well, assisted by one of the grooms. Engaging the lock, she made her way back to her mother and sisters while the servants huddled over against the wall.
No one knew what to expect, or when to expect it. Buried deep in the ground as they were, they were insulated from the sights and sounds above. But if they had been able to see, they would have envisioned the Scots positioning three big ladders up against the gray stoned walls of Kirklinton in their attempt to breach the castle. Up above, the battle was in full swing.
The Kirklinton soldiers battled back, shoving the ladders away from the walls and sending dozens of zealous Scots crashing down with them. Those who weren’t too badly wounded by the fall got back up again and up the ladders would go once more, only this time they were joined by two more ladders. And two more after that. Eventually, there were over a dozen ladders built from white oak or birch lined up against the walls and the Scots were making a strong push to mount Kirklinton’s defenses.
This went on for the entire afternoon and into the night. Saer had positioned archers in the gatehouse and on the three turrets of Kirklinton’s walls to shoot down the Scots. The longbows kept the Scots at bay for a while but there soon came a point that ammunition was running low. When that occurred, Saer called off most of the archers save a few who were more accurate with their arrows. As the sun set and the Scots showed no sign of relenting, Saer ordered the arrows lit and soon, flaming arrows were firing over the walls and striking the enemy below. But along with Saer’s flame arrows, the Scots were firing fire arrows of their own. That was when things started to get critical.
The Scots were excellent marksmen and the stables and outbuildings were the first to catch fire. Saer ordered the horses and animals removed to the kitchen yards were they were corralled in with the chickens and goats. The stables, a long block of thatched roofs and piles of hay, went up in a ball of flame, burning hot and bright into the night sky. Embers carried over to the roof of the great hall, heavily thatched with sod as well as hay, and soon that began to smolder.
Saer had his men post ladders against the walls of the great hall in order to douse the smoldering spots but that soon became prohibitive because the Scots had made a major push and now several of them had managed to mount the wall. Dunstan, in charge of the north wall, was there with his men to fight off a horde of very angry Scots but after a lengthy and brutal battle, he fell victim to a big Scotsman with a bad attitude who grabbed him and threw him over the wall. Dunstan’s life ended on the grass outside of the walls of Kirklinton when several Scots took their axes to him.
Meanwhile, Saer was trying desperately to keep the Scots from climbing off the walls and getting down into the bailey, but after a struggle that took almost until dawn, he was ultimately unable to achieve that goal. His legendary axe in hand, he had been swinging it steadily but there were simply too many Scots, a tide of tartan and flesh that overran Kirklinton in the end.
Saer and Beauson and the remaining Kirklinton soldiers retreated to the keep and bottled it up, hitting out at the Scots from the lancet windows as a group of men in tartans tried to break down the entry door. Unlike many keeps that had retractable stairs in case the castle was breached so the attackers could not get to the entry door of the keep, Kirklinton had a stone flight of stairs that led up to an iron and oak door that was as solid as stone itself. Still, the Scots were intent to break it down. They were also intent to destroy everything at Kirklinton, including the great hall.
The Scots plowed through the great hall, stealing anything of value and destroying anything they couldn’t carry, including the feasting table. They ripped down tapestries and stole pewter plate. When they came to the servant’s alcove, they drank whatever wine was there and smashed the pitchers. Then, the iron grate of the vault drew their attention and when they rattled it and realized they couldn’t get in, they began savaging it with a vengeance.
Down inside the vault, Cathlina, her mother, her sisters, and the servants could hear the Scots at the upper door, howling and cursing. Abechail began to cry as Rosalund hastened to quiet her, but in truth, they were all terrified. Roxane clutched Cathlina, burying her face in her sister’s shoulder as the Scots screamed their threats at the top of the stairs.
Because of the angle of the room, the Scots couldn’t see if there was anyone in the room below but they suspected that whatever was locked up must be extremely valuable. Therefore, they set about trying to break down the iron grate any way they could manage. They even tried to unhinge it but the hinges were fused and well-placed, and they could not get to them.
Infuriated, they ran back into the great hall and grabbed pieces of the destroyed feasting table, propping it up against the iron grate and lighting it on fire. If they couldn’t destroy or unhinge the gate, then perhaps they could build a hot enough fire to soften it to the point where they could bend it and get through. It was worth a try. Soon, there was a raging fire burning up against the iron grate at the top of the stairs, sending great billows of smoke and embers into the air.
The Scots thought they had been quite smart to try to soften the great iron gate with a white-hot fire, but soon enough the fire got out of control. The heat and embers ignited the great wooden roof support beams overhead and shortly thereafter, ignited the roof. Soon enough, half of the hall was going up in flames and the heat and smoke forced the Scots outside. After that, they could do nothing but stand there and watch the great hall of Kirklinton belch great smoke and fire into the night sky. The fire could be seen for miles, like a raging beacon in the night. At that point, there was nothing more to do but wait for the hall to collapse and see what they could scavenge. Those who raided the hall now turned their attention back to the keep, which was so far holding fast.
They went after it with a vengeance.
*
Down in the vault beneath the great hall, Cathlina and the others smelled the smoke from the fire. It was a strong smell but hardly unbearable. Cathlina, still huddled with Roxane, disengaged her clinging sister to go and take a look. Her mother stopped her.
“Nay, Cathlina,” she hissed. “Sit down. Stay away from the door.”
Cathlina gently pulled her hand from her mother’s grasp. “I must see what they have done,” she whispered. “Do you not smell the smoke? They have done something terrible and I must see what it is.”
Before Rosalund could stop her, Cathlina crept away and stayed flush against the wall that contained the second gate at the bottom of the steps. One of the stable grooms, an older man who had been at Kirklinton for many years, joined her and together they carefully made their way to the iron grate so they could peer up the stairwell to see what was happening. Cathlina was very cautious, falling to her knees so she could peer from the bottom of the grate and hopefully be less noticeable if anyone was looking down. But the moment she looked up the stairwell, all she could see was a wall of flame at the top of it.
Shocked, she looked at the old groom, who had seen the white hot flames for himself. They looked at each other as if unsure what to say or do. The old man spoke first.
“We will be safe,” he whispered. “Smoke and heat and flame travel upwards. It will not come down the stairwell. Aye, we will be quite safe down here.”
Cathlina was truly and deeply terrified. “Won’t the flame weaken the iron grate?”
The old man shrugged. “It would have to be very, very hot,” he said. “Even if it is that hot, the Scots cannot get near it, so we are still safe. The best thing they could have done was set the hall afire. They will not be able to get near it now because it is so hot.”
“And we will not be able to get out.”
“The iron will eventually cool. We are still safe, my lady.”
Cathlina wasn’t so sure about the situation but his words brought her some comfort. He was older and wiser, after all. She glanced around the room of family and servants. “Be careful what you tell everyone, then,” she said softly. “I do not want anyone to panic.”
The old man nodded firmly and moved away. Cathlina scurried back to her mother and sisters.
“It seems the Scots are burning the hall down over our heads,” she said quietly. “We are very safe because they cannot enter a flaming building to get at us, and the smoke and heat will rise. It will not come down the stairwell.”
Rosalund was surprisingly calm knowing that a building was burning over her head. “I see,” she said pensively. “I do not suppose there is anything we can do about it anyway. Come and sit, Cathlina. Mayhap… mayhap it is time to sleep a little while we can. You say the Scots cannot get at us now?”
“Not while there is a fire in the hall.”
Rosalund seemed satisfied, although she was still visibly tense. “Then come and lay down,” she said. “Sleep with Abbie.”
Obediently, Cathlina crawled over to her little sister, who was quite weak and limp. Her breathing was slow and labored, but Cathlina didn’t mention it to her mother. She suspected the woman already knew. Tears anew filled her eyes as she lay next to her sister and wrapped her arms around her, holding her tightly. Abechail hardly stirred and Cathlina thought she was somewhat comatose because when she whispered her name, she received no response.
Feeling great sorrow, and great fear, Cathlina began to whisper in Abechail’s ear, telling her of the son she would bear in the spring and how she intended to name the child Magnus after Abechail’s family of hawks. She told Abechail of the boy she intended to have and how he would be bold and cunning, and how much he would enjoy playing with his Aunt Abechail. But that was as far as she got before tears overcame her and she simply held her baby sister tightly, kissing the girl’s cheek. Eventually, she faded off to sleep.
Rosalund remained awake, watching her daughters as they slept soundly. She knew that Abechail’s condition had taken a turn for the worse. She had seen her deteriorate badly just within the past several hours and sleeping in a damp, dank and now smoky vault wasn’t helping. Still, there was nothing she could do about it. She didn’t pray because she and God had not been on speaking terms for quite some time, at least since the time Abechail had been diagnosed by the physics and Rosalund had prayed for a miracle. But no miracle had occurred and Rosalund had stopped praying. God ignored her, just as he was ignoring her now as her castle was under siege and the zealous Scots were burning the great hall over her head. Rosalund knew it was only a matter of time before the Scots broke through and were able to capture them, but she was determined not to allow that to happen. She would not see her daughters fall victim to the clans.
In her heavy robes she hid a bejeweled dirk, a wicked and sharp thing that she was prepared to use on her children if the situation looked hopeless. She would rather see her daughters suffer a few moments of pain rather than hours or even days of torture before they were killed. No, she wouldn’t let that happen at all. As she had brought them into the world, she was prepared to remove them from it, too. Even the daughter that was pregnant with her only grandchild. She would be doing them both a favor rather than let them fall to the Scots.
As Rosalund sat against the cold wall of the vault that was both her prison and her fortress, she began to notice a haze in the chamber. Looking around, she realized that it was smoke, and she looked to the vault entry to see a significant stream of smoke billowing into the chamber. Her heart sank; somehow, someway, the smoke was flowing down the stairwell and into the vault. If the fire was bad enough, and burned long enough, the smoke would fill up the entire chamber and suck the air from it, suffocating them all. It was a horrible ending, choking to death.
Fingering the dirk, she knew what she had to do should it come down to it. If she thought praying to God for strength would help her do as she must, then she might have uttered a prayer. As it was, she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
He wouldn’t listen to her, anyway.